


But What Care I For Words?

by MissWoodhouse



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: A-spec, Canon Queer Character, Identity, Labels, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWoodhouse/pseuds/MissWoodhouse
Summary: “And then that stupid dinner with Ken had felt just like dinner with Rachel, in all the wrong ways.”or, Patrick and David, and (re-)defining your sexualitySet after Episode 5.6
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 7
Kudos: 160





	But What Care I For Words?

**Author's Note:**

> Patrick is very much a canonically gay character, and this story is in no way intended to take that away from anyone. But as someone who, in David and Stevie’s metaphorical Season 1 wine store, spent quite a while trying to figure out why I just wasn't interested in wine (until I finally discovered there were words for that), there were also parts of Patrick’s story that resonated with me. And I wanted to explore them, in my own, tiny, alternative pocket-universe within the Schitt’s Creek sandbox.

Patrick is restocking the hand creams while David handles the cash register. There’s only one customer in the store at the moment, so the two of them keep glancing over at each other with little smiles while she isn’t looking. Only now she’s at the register, and very, very obviously flirting with David.

And he’s flirting back. Not any more than reasonable, so Patrick isn’t worried. David’s clearly going for the up-sell on something, and probably going to succeed if the look on her face is any indication. It’s just…

It’s just that David is so, so good at that, and most of the time, Patrick can’t even tell that someone’s flirting with him. Except with the little old ladies, obviously, but they’ve got no boundaries and telegraph it so clearly he’d have to be on Mars not to see it. They don’t even really count.

That’s mostly why the thing with Ken the other day was so exciting — he was so obvious even Patrick could tell. As obvious as Rachel was when she really, really, really thought they should get back together, because she missed him. And then that stupid dinner with Ken had felt just like dinner with Rachel, in all the wrong ways.

The customer must leave, but Patrick doesn’t hear the bell ringing. He doesn’t even realize he’s stopped stocking product, and just been staring at the cash register, until suddenly David’s beside him.

“Penny for them?”

“Huh?”

“Well, it’s just that either those hand creams suddenly got very heavy, or you seem really lost in thought.”

Patrick shakes his head a little, to snap himself out of it, “Sorry. Just spaced out for minute.”

“Mkay,” says David, in that voice that means he knows it isn’t quite, “but if you want to talk about it…” and he runs a hand along the back of Patrick’s shoulders before retreating to the counter.

Patrick sighs. A long, deep one. The sort that’s trying to gather up the courage and put something into words all in one breath – when the bell over the door rings again.

Patrick breathes in and out, and busies himself with the product, while David makes another sale.

The bell rings again as the customer leaves, and this time, Patrick hears it. And the almost deafening silence it leaves in its wake.

He glances over at David, at the register, and he can feel David’s eyes on him when he looks away.

“It’s just –” he tries, but the words won’t come, and Patrick has to look away. Only now David is staring at him in expectation, and Patrick knows David will feel hurt if he doesn’t find a way to say…

He takes another deep breath, and holds it in for just a second, then looks up at David, “What if I’m not — gay?”

Patrick can’t hold the eye contact, but David walks over and crouches down with him beside the hand creams and looks him right in the eyes, and says, “Okay.”

And Patrick doesn’t know what to say next to that, so the silence stretches between them, until David says, “I mean, I’m not,” and takes Patrick’s hand, “You know that.” And he gives Patrick another moment, and the silence feels a little less terrifying this time, before he asks, “Do you want to tell me what brought this on?”

“I don’t know,” says Patrick, and in some ways he doesn’t, really. “Watching you and the woman at the register, and then…and then Rachel, and Ken, and I…” The words are stuck again, and how can Patrick explain when he doesn’t even understand it himself? But David seems to understand.

“Here,” he tells Patrick, handing him the box of hand creams, “why don’t you go put this in the back room?” So Patrick moves the box to the storeroom, and David follows, turning the sign on the front door to read closed, as he does.

“David, you…we can’t—”

“It’s practically dead right now anyway. It’s not like we’ve never used closed to mean ‘back in fifteen.’

“So tell me what’s bothering you,” only David seems to know Patrick isn’t quite ready just yet. “You said something about me and that woman at the register? You know…you know I’d never—?”

“No! David, of course not!” he takes David’s hand just to make sure he knows. “It’s just…watching you. You’re so good at that. And I never, never know until you’re teasing me about it.

“And then with Ken – it was…It was more obvious. But it wasn’t any better. It just felt like — with Rachel…and I — I feel like maybe the problem is just me.”

And the words are out — like, like all the air’s rushed out of a leaking balloon — and he still doesn’t know how to make sense of them, but that’s okay, because David is pulling him into a hug.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.”

“And I thought I got it, when – with you, everything just feels so right! And I thought I finally figured out why it didn’t before, only…”

David gives him a moment, until it’s clear Patrick isn’t likely to continue on his own, “Only?”

“Only trying with Ken, it felt just like trying with Rachel. And…And, it’s not like I really wanted anything with Ken, not when I have you — us. But a part of me, I don’t know…wanted to want something. Or felt like I should.”

“Okay,” says David, “Okay, so first of all? There’s no should about any of this. No one but you gets to decide that. Not feeling anything with one guy doesn’t mean you can’t be gay. Not feeling anything with lots of guys doesn’t mean you can’t be gay.

“But also,” and David makes Patrick look at him again, “it is also totally okay if you aren’t. If that turns out not to be the right word for you, or if you feel like there isn’t a right word at all.

“Because me, I’m happy with this right here. I’ve never been one to really care about the label.”

Patrick can’t help but laugh at that, and there’s a pinch in David’s brow, like he can’t decide whether to be mad he’s being laughed at or relived to see Patrick crack a smile.

“Hey! I was trying to be…sweet, and romantic…with the feelings thing, here.”

“Sorry — sorry, David!” and Patrick’s hands are on David’s sweater now. “It’s just — the idea of you, _not caring_ , about the label…” but David’s looking a little bit more offended and Patrick doesn’t know what else to do but look really, really pointedly at the sweater.

And David goes, “Oh…oh, and laughs a little, too. “I mean, with things, sure. I care very, very much about the label.” And his eyes go serious again. “But not with people, Patrick. Never with people.”

“Okay, but…”

And it turns out Patrick doesn’t need to figure out how to tell David that maybe Patrick does. Because David figures it out on his own.

“I know you like putting things into little boxes on your spreadsheets. So with people, I only care as much about the label as _you_ need me to.” He takes Patrick’s hand. “And you can absolutely, one hundred percent, still call yourself gay, if that’s the label that works for you. But if it feels like it doesn’t, there are other labels out there, and you can try as many of them on as you need.

“There are some labels that are less about gender and more about specific people”

“Like you?” Patrick asks.

“Like pan, sure,” says David, nodding, “But also other ones? Ones that mean it’s maybe only a few people — a few really, really lucky people — who make you feel like that. And one of those labels might feel totally valid too.”

“And that,” asks Patrick, “that doesn’t mean I’m —?” and a part of him wants to say broken, but it feels like way too much to say the word aloud.

And David, once again, somehow doesn’t need him to. “Never. Never, Patrick. Because I love everything about you, just the way you are.

“Well,” David reconsiders, “maybe we can have a conversation about this shirt you’ve got like six of. Because this,” and he’s playing with the tag at the back of Patrick’s neck now, “this is not a label that has me particularly enthused.”

And Patrick laughs at that. Maybe a little bit shaky – or alright, maybe a lot shaky – but it breaks the tension he’s been feeling since that customer, or maybe two days ago, or maybe even a whole lot longer than that.

“Well,” Patrick says, with what he hopes is something close to his usual teasing smile, “then you’ll just have to take it off me, later, won’t you?”

And David looks a little wary at that. Like he isn’t quite sure he trusts Patrick to be up for that right now.

“Later, though,” says Patrick, and starts moving back out towards the front of the store. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, we’ve got to keep regular hours…”

“‘…if we want to build customer loyalty,’ I know!”

And Patrick flips the sign back to open, and David heads behind the counter, and they go back to sneaking each other fond smiles for the rest of the afternoon.

And later, they’ll talk more about this. And Patrick will try on new words, like demi or grey-ace – both alone and overlapping with others like gay and pan. And he’ll try on new shirts, too – mostly blue, but not all of them – and he’ll copy numbers from the price tags into household budget spreadsheets, and smile at David across the room. And he’ll realize he knows how to label this feeling, at least. He’ll know this feeling isn’t just called love, it’s also called home.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ‘As You Like It’ - 3.5.118


End file.
